


Brumous

by MidnightMoonWarrior



Series: A Tale of Two Agents [2]
Category: Mission: Impossible, Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Long Overdue when you're graduating college, M/M, Sequel, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 13:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15820110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightMoonWarrior/pseuds/MidnightMoonWarrior
Summary: Sequel to Dark Skies. Brandt is caught in a storm of his own feelings while being chased by enemy agents. Ethan ties his past to his present.





	1. Chu (The Sound of a Kiss)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the long overdue sequel to Dark Skies. The title comes from, something I will own up to, pinterest with it meaning of grey skies and winter days. I chose it because I think it relates well to Brandt as a character.
> 
> To reiterate, my usage of assault is completely and utterly devoid of sexual assault meaning. It’s a play on the quote from the movie, nothing more. I would highly suggest reading the aforementioned Dark Skies for context of this fic. Or at least the last chapter.

He and Julia had always joked who they thought the cutest agents were. It was a game they played of sorts, which was one of the reasons he loved her so dearly. Insecurity was never a strong suit of hers, so much so that she went out of her way to try and fluster him. Which was hard to do, though the first time she had pointed out a man he had nearly choked on his drink. Her delivery, a crass “would you rather see him with me or you?” before tucking back behind her own beverage still made him smile. He had flushed, loosening a button on his shirt; she only smiled before picking another. 

 

To be fair, the man in question was very attractive. 

 

His own sexuality was, like everything else overshadowed by his work. He knew the complexities of the human spectrum had grown and were more detailed, but for him sex tended to fall into two categories. A mission, or a pleasure. 

 

Missions did not afford him the ability to be choosy nor would he be. The mission always needed to be accomplished and if he could inflate his ego by seducing someone so be it. Unfortunately this only worked on certain men, leaving Jane to her task when chasing Cobalt. 

 

Pleasures on the other hand depended on the person. He liked people, it was one of the reasons he was in the job he was in. The complexities of humans, from language to culture to behavior, he needed it all and he relished in his mastery. He valued the person, the mind. It was one of the reasons that Julia was a good match, she was smart and fiesty. Able to balance him with empathy and being grounded. Even in their parting, it had been on good terms because she knew that he was doing it for her even if she didn’t want it. 

 

During their honeymoon and later living around the world, she had pressed to learn more about him. Ethan had hidden his profession, which was a huge part of him. So she dug in, quizzing him and asking his thoughts on topics he had never considered. Like if he was a little less straight than he had always assumed, she had pointed to a man and then asked his thoughts. And from there it had gotten more ridiculous, especially on dirtier topics.  

 

He enjoyed it though, as she persuaded to consider other options and eventually bring others to their bed. She taught him to slow down and when he thought back, he was happy about the ache she caused in her absence. He missed her every day, especially their banter. 

 

Her game grew to include the IMF agents following them, when she spotted them on the honeymoon and he confirmed their identity. The Secretary had no less but promised their presence, as non invasive as possible. But Julia had noticed and then absorbed the answers he had given about his training, studying them. 

 

He had teased her about her methodicalness, however she had even deduced that one of them likely had cancer due to the dark moles on their back. He had stepped away from the pool, calling IMF. The agent was pulled, the diagnosis confirmed. He had stopped some of the teasing after that. 

 

There was one agent on the detail she liked the best. Names were strictly fake, but she had cornered the agent once and had a nice conversation on the nature of entropy in corporate systems. He had chuckled at the time of how she had scared the living daylights out of said agent by surprising him, but he had to agree from his lounge chair a few feet away, that the voice was soothing. 

 

They had nicknamed him Blue for his eyes because “Jack” sure as hell didn’t fit. It was cheesy, but Julia spoke of him in fondness since the others were too stiff in her opinion. Ethan had tried to gently remind her it was their job to protect, not interact, but she paid no mind. 

 

Blue was the mission lead, meaning he wasn’t around much. Familiar with the position and what it entailed, Ethan knew the man was nearby watching and feeding information. But on the rare occasions he showed his face, it was clear why Mrs. Hunt liked him. 

 

Tall, with defined features. Muscled, but lean as most agents were so they could fight and run. Brown hair that showed signs of being well kept, but overgrown because of their location. The five o'clock shadow was definitely a draw, since Ethan knew his wife liked it scratching the inside of her thighs.

 

But really, the rash IMF agent knew it was the man’s eyes. They were a mixture of blue and green, like the waves that featured their honeymoon. The eyes were intelligent, always scanning for new information even when the man himself was trying to relax. After than initial conversation, Julia had wanted to speak to him more, but he warned her that the agent would be removed if he thought he was compromised. She had understood, though she still sent him drinks. 

 

Blue’s eyes would crease in amusement and a little worry to the point that Ethan worried for his sanity. Knowing that one of the people you were trying to protect was sending you drinks had to send warning signs, but the man must of been ignoring it. 

 

Though the potential conflict of interest he stayed, leading to Ethan liking his more rougish style. Because even when they went from the honeymoon to London, then to China, then finally Croatia Blue followed. He was a shadow, comforting; everytime they moved locations it seemed like Julia unpacked, but only the last weight was off her shoulders when she saw him. 

 

Despite the assumption many made, Ethan Hunt was not a jealous man when it came to her. Maybe his work where his ego was stored, but not her. She was so confident in him and their marriage it radiated to him. And Blue...Blue just slotted into their routine. It was his assignment, but it was personalized. 

 

If they had forgotten milk at the store, it appeared on their doorstep from their “neighbor” who knew their favorite brand. Once a drunk had tried hitting on her while he had been getting drinks. He had turned around with her arm on his, pointing to see the man being thrown out, followed by Blue who had scanned the room before leaving. 

 

Despite the dangers, he found himself attached to the man as his wife was. Blue was professional, detail oriented, but wasn’t overbearing as many agents could be on the assignment. Intelligence came naturally with him and Ethan felt confident he could fight with the man if needed. Though he did not have a name to go with the face, just have someone consistent in their detail comforted him. 

 

And then one day in Croatia, she had started their game up again. 

 

The locals didn’t give them much material, so she moved to their detail. It was a three man unit, and the two visible as they went into town were ordinary. One was bald and muscular, standing out with the other tourists. He wasn’t bad looking, but obviously just going through the motions. He had been with them since India, but Ethan had no desire to learn more about him and the feeling seemed mutual. Julia herself wasn’t that interested since the agent lacked hair for her to imagine running her fingers through. 

 

The other was new to their detail, younger than the others. Almost too young, which distressed Julia. He assured her that IMF would send anyone into the field who wasn’t qualified. Internally he winced at his partial lie, knowing that talent in one area was seen as a compensate for other deficiencies. However seeing the young woman snooping around the shops selling plants and chemistry supplies, he knew her ability with poison made up for a lot. 

 

She was mildly attractive, her hair pulled back in a long braid, a fact Julia pressed upon and teased him about. Ethan had turned to his wife and cupped her face, telling her that no woman compared so trying to ask him was futile. She grinned at that and went back to something they both found mutually attractive. Going from stall to stall, picking out ingredients for dinner, he elbowed her at one of the shopkeepers. 

 

The worker was around his height, dark hair and eyes that were full of life. She cocked her head to consider it and engaged the man in conversation about his wares. This eventually dissolved into a bartering war over potatoes and spices, which eventually lacked the playful banter that it had. Her shoulders were tense and he knew she had settled the shopkeep in the no category of their game. 

 

They had no want for money, but the fact that the worker seemed eager to jump into the argument rankled her. So she gathered the food and paid, ignoring any other attempts by the Croatian native to engage her. He stood by, taking the bag from her as they moved along. To break her out of the mood, he asked of her opinion and the rant that came afterwards had them both laughing at the end. 

She went on and on about how the other man wasn’t her type and how idiotic he was to think that he had a chance after jumping down her throat at the first chance. He had teased her, asking then what  _ was  _ her type?

 

She took her time dramatically describing him to a tee, including his open shirt and tussled air. Rolling his eyes, Ethan had asked for a description other than him. He accused her of cheating when Julia started again describing him in lesser detail. She wrinkled her nose, deep in thought as she scanned the passerbyers. 

 

There was a nose here, a beard there, muscles and soft features. But nothing seemed like the whole package; he prided himself on constructing a task that took her a minute. Continuing to wander, they looked at miniature sailboats and it seemed she had a spark of inspiration. 

 

“Well, someone who has a certain air to them.” She said, hand on her chin like she was considering the idea herself. 

 

He had questioned it, wondering exactly what she meant. She responded that it was a thing you noticed when they entered the room, like he had. Ethan thought it over, thinking if she mean competent confidence, or ego in his case. 

 

It was then that someone interrupted their couple thought. He immediantly tucked her to his side and squiveled so he would take the person head on. It was instinct at this point, something that Blue found amusing. 

 

“You forgot your change ma’am.” Dropping the coins into her cupped hands, their guardian angel nodded to them both and left. The Hunts watched him weave back through the crowds, tapping the younger agent on the shoulder to pull her back from her chemical distraction. Then Blue tucked from sight, where they assumed he was before it started. 

 

Julia looked at the change, muttering about how it was the difference she had been bartering with the food vendor about, then looked to her husband. Ethan admitted to himself he had not even seen the man appear, let alone get that close to him. Maybe it was a testament to how he didn’t see the man as a threat. 

 

“Someone like that.” She said, answering his previous question. And he thought about it, about the blue green eyes that radiated intelligence and calm under pressure. The professional but relaxed posture, as well as the recklessness to show himself to a woman who had seen him on the honeymoon. Maybe Blue knew they knew and it was just one big game of being content with the situation being imperfect. 

 

Regardless, Ethan understood Julia’s type. It didn’t surprise him when she turned towards him and asked if he liked the man as well. He diverted the answer, because he didn’t want to go down the road if they both liked him. It was too much risk, too much conflict of interest. Though, as she said later, Blue was likely excellent in bed. It was a shame Ethan knew the industry and what it was capable of. 

 

His trepidation on the subject proved right a few weeks later when there was an assassination attempt foiled on their lives. The younger agent was a double agent, attempting to poison their food. Between Blue and the other agent she was subdued and carted off, but it was too close for comfort. The situation of their lives was too chaotic for what Julia deserved, so Ethan brought up his plan. 

 

Julia fought him tooth and nail, and the argument likely worried their neighbors as well as the entire town. She wanted to stay with him, no matter what, and was willing to risk it. He was not, as she was too precious. In the end she relented, knowing that she only way he could live was knowing she was safe.Her regret with the plan was knowing what it would do to Blue.

 

And Ethan, knowing that they had been this close to bringing him in closer, bit his tongue and mourned the loss of the agent in their lives.   

 

The morning of that day, he kissed her and despite her tears tore himself away. Settling a mask of normalcy on his features, he started his run. He knew Blue would follow as he normally did. That left two trusted agents with Julia and Luther standing by to whisk her away. 

 

Running was normally just an everyday occurrence, but his anguish at losing his wife was bubbling up inside. He knew it was the right plan that would keep her safe, but everything he was not was in the process of getting on a private plane. Ideally he would never see her again and that hurt even more. 

 

Blue was trailing him closer than usual, maybe it was because of the argument the nights before. He was concerned for them; regret bubbled for the grief it would cause the other man. Ethan shook his head, trying to shake the need to account for his decisions from his mind; this was the right choice. 

 

It was almost time to head back and kick off the conspiracy to keep her safe. Perhaps he could prepare Blue for it, shock him into high alert. Ducking behind a tree, he grabbed the other man as he passed and pressed him into a tree. 

 

He had never been this close. And despite the fact that Ethan was radiating tension and likely hostility, he couldn’t help but notice the delicate eyelashes and softer feature of the concerned man looking back at him. In the back of his mind he lamented a lot of things, including that he was losing his wife and that they were losing Blue. 

 

He dropped the man and went back to the “horror” that awaited him. He ignored the man’s reaction to the scene, going through the motion of a distraught husband. The serbians he was to kill were on IMF’s hit list, so it fit the narrative and an agency goal. But he still had to sell it. 

 

And he did, which landed him in a prison that he was then broken out of. Honestly the structure was good to help him deal with the hole she left. Jane and Benji breaking him out was unexpected, but he had motivation rather than depression to drive him. Their mission in the Kremlin went spectacularly wrong and he ended up in a familiar position, speaking with the Secretary about one of his fuck ups. He would ask for the time to fix it blah blah blah. 

 

As the Secretary spoke, Ethan had shifted his attention to the passenger. One William A Brandt, who regarded him with silent anxiety. His eyes, a dull green with a dash of blue, studied him before speaking his turn. Brandt also correctly identified Cobalt, which was a point in his column. There just seemed to be something familiar about him that Hunt could not place.

 

He wasn’t given the chance as the Secretary died and they were left swimming for their lives. They chit chatted and argued about his plan regarding the flare distraction, giving Ethan a closer look. He seemed familiar but it didn’t match anyone in his immediant mind. 

 

Then they were running, trying to get on a train bound for safety and of course the ever efficient IMF put a retinal scanner on a moving train. Cursing, the two followed and Brandt touched his shoulder to signal to move. 

 

And it clicked who the man at least resembled, if not was. 

 

He focused on getting on the train knowing he could analyze later. But the firm touch, which was gentle yet directive in nature showed that the man was more than an analyst. It wasn’t enough to prove who he was, but it was enough to put him at ease. Competency was commendable even if he didn’t know the whole story. 

 

Finally they made it, the running commentary from the other man amusing his subconscious as he pinned himself to the side of the train finally unlocking it. Hauling the other man inside, they found his teammates with forehead lines of stress and worry, but no worse for wear. 

 

Brandt kept throwing looks at him, before he took dry clothing to go change into. As the outside agent excused himself, Benji threw him a look that read “are we sure about him?”

 

Ethan had just wearily nodded, changing himself while gathering his wits. As the oldest and most experienced agent, he was the defacto team leader. The Secretary of the IMF was dead, Russia in a near war frenzy over the Kremlin bombing, and there were nuclear codes missing. Automatically his mind started to formulate the plan, despite the fact that there was more information to know.

 

His mind was drawn from the endangered world, to the newest man in his trope of agents with a deathwish. It couldn’t be Blue, there was no way the IMF would let him anywhere near Ethan after the “disaster” in Croatia. There would probably be fears of retaliation on his part against the team leader that let Julia falsely perish. 

 

But he was reminded enough of the past figure to consider the feelings he had tucked away before, of security that familiarity brought. Blue had been his equal in a ways and had the assassination attempt not occured...he had no doubt what Julia’s intentions were. Hunt could not deny that while his own desires took a backseat, the opportunity to be reminded of a more peaceful and happy time was tempting. 

 

It was reckless. The team didn’t know the other man, he was alone if not with them, and they needed all the help they could get to save the world. Outside of that there was the obstacle of homophobia which could lead to Jane throwing the man off the train if there was a gay panic. Overall it was a bad idea. 

 

He thought back to the last time he had been reminded of the past in a positive way and weighed the risk versus reward. No one had ever called Ethan a smart man, only a motivated one; he rose from his seat. 

 

Jane, likely deep in her thoughts about Hanaway, barely gave him a glace. Benji twitched an eyebrow, causing Ethan to say something regarding checking on the lone wolf. The techie snickered and went back to the tech he had found on the train compartment. 

 

He grabbed a long sleeve shirt as an excuse.  As he approached the other compartment door, he considered if he really should be doing this or had a plan in place. Both answers were pretty solid nos, but he continued just in part to satisfy his curiosity about the other man. Brandt had been quiet, but professionally assertive in his knowledge during their ill fated car ride earlier. It differed from what he remembered of Blue, who was sedated with an undercurrent of playfulness.

 

But there were enough similarities to draw his attention.

 

Ethan triggered the door to open and was greeted with the sight of the other agent turning quickly to face away from him. Likely it was done to preserve modesty, which the older agent respected. He threw the shirt on the nearby bunk, noting his apologies for not have pants to replace the man’s wet ones. 

 

“It’s fine.” Brandt noted, making a weak gesture to compliment the words. The response was a sign that he was nervous, making Ethan tilt his head in interest. 

 

The door shut behind Hunt, seemingly making the other man even more nervous. Did his reputation follow him that much? Perhaps there was another reason. The tension in the room didn’t feel like fear, worry perhaps? Maybe attraction, which would account for the looks the other man had been throwing him earlier, was the root. Brandt could be worried about being found out, being rejected. Ethan decided to prove that wrong, for Brandt’s sake of course. 

 

He reached out and pushed William Brandt up against the wall. 

 

In the back of his mind, Hunt knew that he was rationalizing the situation in his favor. That he was being selfish in his plan to try and stem his continued grief over Julia by replacing her with a lookalike of their crush. He was abusing his power as a senior agent in a time where they should be planning to stop Cobalt. He also knew he still had time to turn back, reject his half baked desires and focus.

 

Instead he decided he could do it all, as he normally did, and whispered to the man not to punch him. A moment later, he kissed a blue eyed copycat and wished Julia was there. The man stiffened as he went through some of the same motions he had with her, relishing the contact. 

 

The next time he kissed him, to his surprise and secret satisfaction, Brandt kissed back. Now he could focus. 


	2. Chrysalism (Being at peace as a thunderstorm takes place)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this chapter on, we are in the present. 
> 
> Slight violence warning? No gore however.

The water around him rippled. 

 

William Brandt, field agent turned analyst turned wearer of many hats, stilled. The tunnel he currently occupied was dark, illuminated only by lightning. His still throbbing ears strained to hear a difference, ignoring the torrent of rain and thunder a few feet away. There was a myriad of reasons for the displacement of water, most of which were harmless. 

 

The assassins whose attempt he had thwarted, not so much. 

 

Deciding that the rippling was unlikely to kill him, as it had not yet, Brandt slid down the wall to sit. The water lapped right above his belly button, the temperature cool enough to be a concern but not a full blown worry yet. That spot was taken by the pressing issue of him being stranded, injured, and the com having little to no reception. Hypothermia had to take the back seat. 

 

The com in his ear sputtered, but gave off little more than static. The brunette sighed, leaning his head back against the brick. Taking a deep breath, he stared at the dark above and tried to make his adrenaline riddled mind on focusing on one thing. 

 

The mission. He had been tasked to infiltrate a diplomat’s household, gather information, and ensure that the woman was keeping her alliances strictly. If she was not, gently reminder her she was being watched, and then disappear into the night. That was the plan, a month at the most, which almost came to fruition. Until he had identified an explosive device during a formal dinner, a sophisticated yet not well hidden one that would kill the asset. 

 

Gently rubbing around his tender ears, he was relieved to only feel cool water rather than thicker, warmer blood. He had gotten the diplomat clear, exposing himself to the blast. He hoped the damage to his eardrums was only temporary and cursed his need for it in the dim surroundings. The result of the blast was contained without the house becoming destabilized, meant to kill the target it was near, but both he and the asset had sustained injuries. Him more than her, the assassins less than both of them. 

 

The hand to hand fighting, running, and dodging bullets made him thank every member of his team for their attempts to make him more field ready. It had been a pet project of sorts, whipping him into shape and honing his sharp intellect more towards reaction than crunching probabilities. Jane had worked on him with hand to hand, beating him in ways that made him fear her thighs before forming a healthy respect. Benji appointed himself to ensure that any lapse in operative knowledge that had occurred during his absence was remedied and enhanced. He had grumbled about why he needed to know the chemical compositions and reactions of a near infinite number of item combinations. However it had helped him to create a distraction to escape the house, something he would never tell Benji about, it’d probably lead to an extension into fusing machines and animals. And Ethan...

 

Another lightning strike, rumbles close behind. The brief illumination showed a dreary surrounding. Seeing no immediate danger and no increased ability to use his com, Brandt thumped his head slightly against the brick. 

 

It had been weeks, months now that he thought about it, since Cobalt. His life had become a whirlpool of investigations, training, missions, and somewhere in there he had no idea what was going on. There had been no acknowledgement that what had occurred on the train had happened. No words, no tilts of the head or smirks. No bumping shoulders, or random touches. The same banter was there from before, but like it was in the train yard, it was hollow. Lacking substance, abstract with no concrete expression of what was there. 

 

It had occurred to him that it was a dream, a hallucination of exhaustion and fear from the shooting. That Ethan had never kissed him, hadn’t pushed him against a wall. That the warmth he had felt down his neck was a yearning for intimacy. That it was all one big dream that he had cooked up out of a need for forgiveness and to alleviate the loneliness. And despite the fact that he remembers the feeling of skin against his and the heat contrasting with the cold, he’s inclined to believe it. 

 

Rationally he knows better, but it’s easier to think of it that way. Easier to swallow that lie, to believe he created something rather than be left wandering on purpose. Easier to think than face the truth that he had been toyed with and then abandoned.

 

Cobalt hadn’t allowed him time to react, between the death of a friend and being plunged into a river. He was without his balance at the time, to deal come face to face with the nature of the beast that was Ethan. It was jarring to be in water as it rose, only to be able to know it was there. It was easy to create a distraction to forget where you were, be it facing the past or being kissed by a familiar face. To create an image of safety, projected on a man who always finished the job. 

 

Adjusting to the storm, the water rose to the next button of his shirt. The chill was getting worse, a hollow ache becoming a chatter in his jawbone he could barely suppress. The com piece was still spitting static when Brandt pulled it from his ear, unwilling to sacrifice his need to hear for the useless noise. Absentmindedly he noted he was lucky that relative to the storm, the water current was manageable and not dragging him under. 

 

His actions had led him here, to ponder hypothermia and his pitiful love life. This was not the worst situation he had been in as an agent, Budapest being more volatile. Rigid shoulders ached from the tension as new weariness washed over him, perhaps it just felt worse than most missions. Before the whirlwind that thrust action, nuclear weapons, and Ethan back into close proximity, he wanted to be back in the field. 

 

Being in the back office separated you from the sense of accomplishment, of responsibility brought forth by thwarting an attack. Or the shame of making a mistake, which made it a safer option which more were comfortable with. But him? He had missed it.  Missed being part of a team, of falling asleep to the weariness of a mission accomplished, of  _ winning _ . 

 

But he had stayed back, analyzing rather than acting because of his fear of outcomes. Knowing the odds and recommending action was easier, safer than putting his heart and others on the line. He did not for a moment regret his actions that led him to the present, aside from not waterproofing everything, but it was exhausting. Now felt worse than before. Depression and guilt had been replaced with near death experiences and what would become arthritis. Maybe it was because he was older and not in prime condition, since the time from office to field work had been short. The whiplash of the transition was fierce, but he had signed up for it. He had enjoyed Dubai and at the time, he had wanted more. 

 

A drop of water from the brick above him hit his forehead, he sighed. A waterworld remake had not been in the mission description. 

 

Rousing himself from his rest, Brandt listened once more to the downpour before rising to move. Staying put was not an option, for his health and chances of safety were both diminished if he did. Extract would find him anywhere, but until then he was on his own. It was a familiar plague lately, considering his team. 

 

Benji and Jane tried, but their various roles in the IMF led to little time together outside of missions. Benji was regularly called for technical consulting, especially with Ghost Protocol’s lasting damage. Jane regularly went undercover, quick but numerous in nature. He himself was torn between his new role and old, his replacement for Chief Analyst had been appointed, but most of his staff still deferred to him, making the transition hard to quantify and solve. The new guy wasn’t bad, but considering his staff had grown with him as he had recovered somewhat from the guilt of killing Julia indirectly, they were attached. 

 

Unlike the last member of his team. The one he saw the most of was the furthest away, like a moon that he could see, but when he went to reach out, there was a thousand miles between them. Even if he was to reach out, it seemed like the man was like his code name; a raging storm of elusiveness and isolationism like the gas giant.

 

_ Not now _ , he chastised himself. Wading slowly, but securely through the high water. He was  _ not  _ going to give that more though, more of his time. It hurt, but giving time to someone who did not do the same was illogical and worse for him. 

 

The other end of the tunnel was rapidly approaching, the washed out landscape greeting him. Going back out was not appealing, but knowing enemy agents were hunting him was a definitive motivator. He left the useless, waterlogged communicator floating in the water and set out for the treeline past the near shore. To keep out of his own head, he focused on each step and the world around, which was a safer option than brooding over an asshole. 

 

The water level decreased, falling below his chest, then knee. Solid, through soaked and muddy ground was a welcomed platform to his shaking legs. He absent mindedly wondered if he would lose a shoe. The roar of rain and thunder limited his awareness, so he scanned best he could. But even that was futile, for a lesser agent the panic would start sinking in. 

 

Brandt took it with a momentary pause as there was worse. There was always something worse. There had been narrower crevices, more volatile personalities, far intenser fires than this waterfall atop him. As he reached for the treeline, finally out of the river, he appreciated the canopy shielding him. He was far from dry, but a reduction of chilled water pooling on his skin was welcomed.

 

He shuddered, his body trying to keep him warm as he kept moving forward. His progress was faster, quicker without the drag of the water, but the storm still hid dangers. He wondered if he was in the top five of dangerous water situations in his friend group. Jane had seduced someone during a game of water polo, dodging elbows to the nose in the process. How she had did it was still a mystery. Clint always retold the story of him crawling through 3 miles of sewer piping to steal a package, then 5 back because he got lost. The milage and risks always increased with each edition, as he loved to do. And of course taking the cake was the poster boy himself who had drowned and come back to life before almost dying in a car wreck. 

 

Will scowled bitterly, muttering “No, I’m nowhere near the top.” 

 

Talking to himself in the middle of a combat situation was not a good idea, but honestly his paranoia was likely just that and nothing more. Who else would be in his place at that moment? Who else would go on this rookie level mission, rejoin the field, in the middle of a tempest just to not be in the office when a certain someone got back from his latest deathscapade? 

 

Sure, he and Ethan had seen each other over the course of saving the world, again. Thankfully he had been able to mostly turn his brain off at the time, stemming the want to hold the frenetic man until he stopped looking as though he would vibrate into dust. The car maneuvers were not unusual for their line of work, but seeing him in the overturned car, water still running from his mouth as he shambled from the wreck was too much. Benji had filled them in, him gripping the steering wheel tight in response to knowing that someone who was deprived of oxygen had roared off on a bike. 

 

_ Madman _ ; he had stayed cordial, eliciting some odd looks from Benji and Luther. Ethan had regarded him with a raised eyebrow and a curious look, but had said nothing. Which he had expected, his presence almost daring a response. They had parted, the big baddie subdued, and he had watched his complication flirt with the black widow of an agent. The knife had twisted further in his heart and when he heard that Ethan was coming to the main office later...here he was. 

 

This was the second time he had run away from confrontation with the man and though it had done nothing for him in the past, the idea of being around him seemed riskier than not. He had forgiven himself for failing to help Julia, for dragging himself back into Ethan’s life, bit he was still constricted in his feelings. The adult thing to do was ignore the kiss, ignore the man and treat him like an asset as most of the agency tried to do. The approach seemed to be working well for Ethan, he grimaced. 

 

Why he was attached to the megalomaniac deathwish who taught the annual seminar on how not to be intelligent in professional situations, he could not fathom. Yes the man was organized, but not in the way that counted, like in the form of a survival instinct. He was brash, anti-authoritarian, and aging like a character in a superhero comic. The type destined to die spectacularly and not knowing when to quit. A liability to attach yourself to. 

 

And yet.

 

A snapping sound, of a twig permeated his thoughts. Rapidly he turned to try and get a glimpse, tucking behind a tree when he found none. The vinegar that had been coursing through his veins drained, likely matching the color his face had taken on from the conditions. He stilled, knowing the decision he had to make. 

 

Fighting was not optimal, but if the assassin had tracked him this far, running would prolong the inevitable. He cursed the mothering voice that whispered about parallels to other issues in his life. He pushed it aside. Neither option was his best, but he needed to commit. There were no other sounds than the ones he had been listening to for hours, the droplets hitting leaves and rolling murmurs of thunder. His hearing was strained, the dark storm rendering him blind and deaf. 

 

In his mind he could hear the briefing on how they would take down the unseen target, and if the team was here which strategy they would employ. Benji would use whatever waterproof tech to determine the location, Jane would take to the trees to have the high ground. He would flank from the left, since most were right dominant, thus pay less attention to his approach. And Ethan...Ethan would be the bait. To be fair, the man wasn’t the worst temptation in the world. 

 

But he was on his own, so he readied himself. The men he fought initially were dangerous, but not taxing. The real issues lied with their number which were at least five at the time of the explosion. One got clipped in the crossfire, another he incapacitated. Which left three possibly, though likely two since the explosion rocked the part of the house where the counterintelligence agents seemed to haunt. Three, likely two. 

 

Framing it positively, it would be beneficial to his health and his wildly vearing emotions from rage to bitterness. He preferred numbers, statistics, but violence - violence was an old friend. And considering his near photographic memory, it would be easy to project a certain face onto his opponents.  

 

His weapon had been lost in the battle post explosion, kicked away towards the fire when he had choked the other person out. Not that it would be much use, waterlogged and likely to jam. Hand to hand was the simplest choice. But he had to be precise, the hours in the cold rain and aftermath of the earlier encounter had left him weary and stiff. 

 

A plan in mind, he went left. The next grouping of trees gave him cover to flex his grip, to ready hands to break bone and smash nerves. He had to be quick, efficient as a one misstep could lead to his failure. Wrists rotated, then arms flexed. And then Ethan would have to come rescue him and the embarrassment alone would kill him so not coming out on top wasn’t an option. 

 

Clearing his mind, the world became clearer than it had in awhile. There was only the nature around him, his body, and the knowledge that there was someone else in the trees. Moving further into the dense forest, he feigned right, before moving further left. Most teams, including his own tended to attempt to surround the target and move in. When faced with an open area like a neverending wood, it was best to move in a line. 

 

A line, which if he had to bet, would pass him if he was patient. 

 

Again, he went up and left. And repeat. 

 

The cat and mouse game, though risky, was a bit exhilarating. Knowing someone was hunting him and that he was winning, drawing someone in under the context that they had the upper hand. It was a thrill that was lacking in office work. While he remained humble, anxious, and reserved; it was delicious to know when others were below him. 

 

Time had passed as it normally did when one was not around a clock and in the darkness it was unclear if he had been off the grid for how long. In this moment though, it felt as though it was going faster, and yet slowed all at once. The footsteps were getting closer, but he on his own command and each step seemed an expression of his will. One last time he feigned, and curl behind a tree to wait for the unlucky person to get just close enough. 

 

Ethan crept back into his mind, how the man had looked humble almost time he had seen him. Attuned to his tension yes, but almost relishing the fact that he looked like hell from the mission. Basking in the light of victory or some adrenaline junkie high of the like. He had known Ethan to do so, to come off of the accelerated focus that came with his field work. But this time seemed different, perhaps it was the fact that the counter-agent had been saved. 

 

Brandt had scoffed at the messiness of her before, but in his moment of hunting she just came and went as a thing that existed. Perhaps he was just numb to her, knowing that after all this time it was not her he had to accept in his world, but him. And acceptance of facts, like knowing that Ethan Hunt was going to die of middle age, was a part of life. A fact, like he was being hunted while likely suffering from minimal hypothermia and perhaps a concussion, was useful life and should be ignored. Facts, like the fact that Ethan had  _ ghosted  _ him after pushing him up against a wall and licked down to his collar bo...

 

Brandt sprung from his thoughts, a dark shadow appearing in his vision. Quickly he rammed the foe, targeting the handgun in the other’s left hand. Knee to the stomach and elbow to the face did not defer the firm grip on the weapon, so he went for the inside of the elbow. This left him open, but disarming the other person was the main priority. 

 

A higher pitch gasp and the  _ female  _ counteragent returned a kick to his side. It stung, but he turned to lessen the blow while crowding her. Female agents tended to be more agile and flexible, so a throat punch into a block gave him the upper hand. The only downside to overpowering her, even as she dropped her gun as he intended, was the arm that came around his throat to choke him. 

 

He kicked her one more time, more as a flail, to the chin and she stumbled against the tree behind her dazed. Adrenaline pumping, Brandt attempted to forcibly elbow the assailant to no avail. Clawing at the arm, he threw himself back into one of the nearby trees. The arm faltered slightly, allowing the blackspots to flee from his eyes. He sucked in oxygen, breathing heavily as he turned and bodily pushed them into the tree. The masked agent dry heaved from the pressure, before retaliating with a knee aimed at the IMF analyst’s stomach. 

 

Dodging the hit, Brandt threw a few punches, aiming the neck and sides specifically. His hook from the right was blocked and the hits he took were only exasperated by the conditions around him. The rain had both parties sliding, their footing compromised. Brandt yanked his arm out of the block, moving to avoid the female agent who had recovered. 

 

Facing both down, his internal calculation of odds of success had dropped from excitement for a victory to concern for his longevity. Still, the alternative remained of being rescued like a damsel by the IMF. Quickly taking stock of what hurt - his ribs, jaw, and head - he knew he had to get it over quickly, even if he had to channel his current frustration. 

 

The counteragents surged to meet him, he ducked her roundhouse kick only to use her momentum to drop her to the muddy ground. The other agent settled into a boxing stance, going for power, though their punches required speed to counter. Looking for an opening, he sacrificed his shoulder to deliver an elbow to the temple. Gritting through the pain, Brandt dislocated their shoulder before taking a kick to the head. 

 

He stumbled, narrowly avoiding most of the hits that came after. She went after him again with a kick, which this time he caught and twisted. Screaming in pain, her hip either broken or massively dislocated, she reached for her waist. He twisted more, ready to throw her away from him. 

 

Expecting her partner to interject, Brandt felt a knife slice his face. She grinned, though in pain, as he dropped her throbbing leg. She was imobile, but the specialized throwing knives she carried promised clear accuracy. With a split second to react before she pushed through the pain further, he charged. 

 

A knife flew into his leg and his already injured shoulder, the air flew from his lungs. But he made it to his target, spiking her to the forest floor. She thrashed against his grip, his forearm closing her air canal. She fought, scratching his face, unable to puncture his eyes. Finally, her eyes rolled back, her squirming ending. If he was a ruthless agent, a smart agent, he would of killed her. But he was an analyst, so he stood. 

 

Dazed from the blood loss, his mind sluggish amd vision blurry. The rain was washing away from the blood from his face, as he took one step away from his opponent.  Now he needed to find a dry space to wait for extraction and bandage his wounds. Perhaps there was a cave, he considered his options as he stepped further forward. His body ached, shivered from the combination of the storm and the fight. There was something he couldn’t shake, like he had forgotten something...

 

A dark shadow appeared in his peripheral, moving towards him. The arms seemed wide open, but it could be the concussion he likely had. Defensively he swerved away, ending up against a tree trunk. The figure got closer and in the back of his mind, Brandt wondered if this was it. He had taken his eyes off them and now he was near helpless. Perhaps he could still take them by surprise, hell it was better than going down because of a monsoon. 

 

When the figure was close enough, ballsy enough to touch his shoulder, Brandt smirked to himself.  _ Big mistake _ he thought as he reared back, twisting towards the figure. He threw himself into the punch, landing the punch right as a bolt of lighting showed the identity of his would be assaulter. 

 

Brandt missed it however, falling into unconsciousness from the exhaustion. The darkness was welcomed. 


End file.
